She waved and backed the Volvo out of Lulu's driveway and slipped into her own across the street. Before leaving the car, she sat a moment, gazing at the honey-colored stone cottage. Her old house in Martindale—the one she'd lived in with her husband before their divorce—and even the rental she'd moved into afterwards, were more than twice the square footage of the cottage.

  She hadn't lived in a space this small since their first apartment.

  But, in this case, size didn't matter. She had fallen in love with the cozy cottage on Curiosity Lane.

  Just seeing it when she pulled up in the driveway or when she was out walking always brought a smile to her face and made her feel giddy and happy.

  The December weather had killed off most of the annuals in the front yard, and she fully expected a winter storm would finish off whatever was left.

  Then Spring would come and she would plant more flowers. The back yard had a now browning and pretty much dead vegetable garden, but she'd gotten Lulu to promise to bring over cuttings and seedlings and give her whatever help she needed since she had not inherited her mother's impressive horticulturist skills. That was the deal they'd made. She'd teach Lulu to make flaky pie crust and Lulu would help, if possible, turn her black thumb green.

  Grabbing her handbag, she exited the car and entered the cottage. A scream burst out of her.

  The black cat stood arching its back, which was not normally something that would frightened her, except this time, the cat's back was almost touching the ceiling.

  It was like having feline King Kong in your living room.

  With twitching ears, Bubsy instantly shrank back to his normal size. "Don't walk up on me like that," he admonished her.

  Abby stared at him, too astonished to speak.

  "I was merely stretching," he hissed. "Can't a feline enjoy a pleasurable moment when he's home alone?"

  After a gulp or two to replenish the saliva in her mouth, Abby shook herself out of her stupor. "Is that something I can do too? Stretch ten feet tall?"

  "You're already ten feet tall."

  She stared down at the furball. "I'm five-nine and a half, Shorty."

  "From here, it looks like ten. And no, you can't do it. Not until you've scored high enough on all of your tests to receive at least a probationary license."

  Abby shrugged out of her parka. "This again."

  "You need to be certified and get your license, Abby. I think we should get started on a new lesson right now."

  "Slow down, Bubsy. I need a minute to relax first," She toed off her shoes and sank down on the sofa. "It's been a strange day." She was feeling frazzled by what had occurred at the manor with Camille. And that rat. What if it was Ravenna's ghost? How crazy weird is that?

  A shaky breath rattled out of her. "Maybe I don't have what it takes. I can't absorb all of this bizzaro stuff."

  "It's not bizzaro. It's enchanted. And you're doing fine. Your broomsticking ability meets my approval, I'm happy to say. It's your potion-making that needs a-a boost."

  "That's a nice way to put it," she said, popping up. "I should start the spaghetti sauce."

  He followed her into the kitchen. "I'm not sure if I should tell you this, Abby, but you do have an ancestor who was a renowned potion-maker, and your mother, she too had magnificent enchantment skills. I believe with more practice you could reach her level."

  "Yeah, right."

  "Of course, your mother was a witch on both the maternal and paternal sides of her family, making her a full-fledged enchanter from birth. You, unfortunately, are not. You're a hybrid. Witch madre, human padre. Then again, you do have that rare and radiant blue energy flowing through you, so, perhaps you will exceed the skills needed to become a Defender."

  According to Selene, Abby had the potential to be a Defender, the name given to a seeker of justice. Very few enchanters qualified to be Defenders who could operate in both the Younger Realm, which humans inhabited, and the enchanted Ancient Realm where magick originated.

  Even more notable was Abby's gift. She exhibited a power seldom seen in modern witches: a rare sort of electrical energy that flowed directly through her at times, although she had not yet learned how to control it.

  Selene had said was an ancient force that could cut, freeze, stun or kill, although Abby had only experienced the stun mode. That had happened spontaneously when her life was in danger.

  But for it to be an effective weapon, she had to learn how to harness it and use it when others were in danger.

  Abby crouched down and took two onions out of the crisper. "So, you know about the Defender stuff, huh?"

  "I'm your familiar, so of course I know you're a potential Defender and the rare power you possess. Before we met, I received a readout of your personality traits and potentials. You know, to become familiar with you."

  She turned around, crossing her arms with an onion in each hand. "What readout?"

  "Ah, it's nothing, nothing to concern yourself with. It's a minor document that serves as an introduction, that's about it. So, really it's nothing." His ears twitched. So did his tail.

  "Right, it's nothing. Look at you being so fidgety. I've been reading this blog by a former cop, turned crime novelist. Fidgety is a telltale sign of lying."

  Bubsy was oddly quiet. She couldn't resist. "Cat got your tongue, huh?"

  His tail slapped the floor. "That's below you, Abby."

  She grew somber. "Tell me exactly what this readout said."

  "It's nothing. I mean it. I'll give you an example. It's why I first appeared as a book to you. A book, magick or not, doesn't frighten people. You can simply close it and toss it away. You feel in control. It's not like having, say, a stray cat appear or cuddle up to you in your back yard, and then the cat starts talking to you. You could have a heart attack." He paused. "Actually, that did happen once and caused the League to re-evaluate the revealing process."

  "I should hope so. Humans would freak out if a cat suddenly started speaking to them. I mean, sure, cats already communicate and, boy, can they whine on and on when they want something, but actual words...Woo, no."

  She studied her shoes then looked at him again. "This readout thing upsets me. It sounds like I was being watched before you showed up in your book, um, disguise."

  "Watched? No. That sounds creepy. You weren't being watched. Well, peeked in on once in a while, but that was only to see how you reacted to unusual things. Like your dreams about flying. You reacted badly. You turned a fine adventure into a nightmare. You'd be flying and then, suddenly, falling to your death. Frankly, that didn't show a strong aptitude for broomsticking, which is why it's even more surprising that you are doing so well."

  She pulled a chef's knife out of a drawer. "You keep avoiding the subject. What else is in the readout?"

  "There's a recommendation to go easy on the flickers from the enchanted realm. Nothing too spectacular or too often. You were closed down, partly because of the memory block from your mother's spell, and partly from the emotional turmoil from your cheating husband and your subsequent divorce. You needed to go slow and easy."

  "That's thoughtful, I guess."

  "It is, isn't it? In the conclusion the readout stated that, before you discovered your true nature, you expected to live a simple life like the humans around you, as they were your influences.

  "Now, everything is turned upside down. Now, there's no known path for you to follow. You have to create it yourself and, of course, your continued awakening is making you a more open personality."

  "Open? I'm hiding my witchy self from my daughter and the rest of the world, except for Harriet, Mr. Steed, Selene and you."

  "That's one reason witches have familiars. We're chat buddies you can share anything with and not feel too isolated. Once you're certified and have your license, you can attend the League's semi-annual meetings. You can go to the winter solstice and the vernal equinox celebrations. You'll be with others, and you can even stretch your back like I did. It's quite pleasurable to be that elastic."

  She chopped the onions. At first, it was a fast chop then she gradually slowed and said, "I need your advice on something else, Bubsy."

  The cat's tail swished. "I hate that name."

  "Let it go." She gave him a teasing grin. "Jill might re-think it and come up with something like Muffin or Peanut."

  His whiskers twitched at the thought. "What's the something else?"

  Chapter Nine

  "First, is it possible for a person's ghost to appear here in the Younger Realm as a, a, well, a rodent?"

  Bubsy gagged. "A rat? I hate when that happens. The answer to your question is, yes. A ghost can appear in different shapes. Some are earthbound for a time and prefer to show up in corporeal bodies if they are tied to a specific place or cannot release their physical desires. Rats, in particular, can't give up food. Was it eating?"

  She nodded. "I saw it nibbling what was left of Ravenna's birthday cake, an almond cheesecake."

  "Ahh. There it is. Rats and cheesecake. What more is there to say? Is that it?"

  "No." Abby described meeting Gilbert and Camille at the manor. She'd already told him about the day she found Ravenna's body and Brenda's cries from inside the locked bathroom. "So, as I'm leaving, I hear Camille say something to me."

  He cocked his head. "What did she say?"

  "I think she said, 'Some defender.'"

  Bubsy's golden eyes slit with suspicion. "That's not good. How would she know about Defenders unless—"

  "Unless she’s a witch—and not simply a witch." Abby gnawed on her bottom lip. "I mean, what if she's a scout for the Dark Flyers?"

  The Dark Flyers were a secret clan of witches known to practice Dark Magick, and it was widely held that they were intent on ousting the Enchanters League. Selene suspected they might have sent a scout to Moon Water, although she wasn't sure why and hadn't explained her thinking to the others in the coven.

  Abby blew out a breath. "I wish I could reach Selene."

  Her cousin had been summoned to the League's headquarters after rumors surfaced involving possible new cases of Dim Fever, the mind-paralyzing hex once believed to have been vanquished. Five cases had been suspected in the past six months, although the League had issued no official confirmation.

  For some victims, Dim Fever robbed them of their memories and identities until they could no longer be part of the enchanted community. But they were the lucky ones.

  This new strain of Dim Fever seemed to have an extra kick to it and it could be fatal.

  Scholars and researchers, both active and inactive, who had any familiarity or knowledge of the ancient texts, had been summoned to join the League's investigation.

  Not long after Selene left to meet with the League, she'd sent a message informing Abby, Mr. Steed and Harriet that she would soon be sequestered and incommunicado for a time.

  Bubsy sneezed. The onion was irritating his nasal passages. "Abby, I believe there should be enough higglewort left to create a stronger protection potion, although, without any mandrake or goat's rue, it will be susceptible to temperature changes."

  Abby looked at him. "You believe Camille is a Dark Flyer?"

  "There's no way to know that at this time. But precautions are wise to take, are they not? Where's the higglewort?"

  It took nearly an hour to concoct the potion. She'd made a simpler protection potion once before but this was much more elaborate. After the odor suffused the cottage and drove Abby out into the backyard for a while it was ready.

  Then Bubsy instructed her on the correct way to sprinkle it around each door, window and the fireplace inside the house. Outside, she had to repeat the action, but only when there was no wind. She started with the back door, then applied the potion to the sill of every window and to the front door.

  Abby stared up at the chimney and made up her mind to wait until the cover of dark. Then she'd use the broomstick to fly up and sprinkle the opening to the chimney.

  A car horn tooted.

  Abby spun around to see a tan van pulling into the driveway of the cottage next door. She slipped the potion bottle into the pocket of her blue jeans and waved. "Welcome back, Wyatt!"

  He climbed out from behind the wheel. "Abby, good to see you."

  An aspiring songwriter, Wyatt made his living as a handyman and had been gone for over a month on a big remodeling job in Los Angeles, his old stomping grounds.

  "What a trip. I'm so glad to be back home. Hey, did you ever find a job?"

  "I'm temping still. Mostly at the bookstore."

  Wyatt gestured at something behind her. "Who's that?"

  She turned. Bubsy stood on the walkway, staring at Wyatt. "I, um, rescued a cat. Jill named him Bubsy."

  Wyatt patted his blue-jeaned thigh. "C'mere, fella."

  The cat lifted his tail and sauntered down the walkway toward the curb, ignoring Wyatt until he said, "That cat has himself a 'tude. I'm thinking I'll call him, Cat Dude."

  Bubsy spun around and came loping toward Wyatt then head-bumped his leg. "You are something," Wyatt said, reaching down. “I’m normally a dog person, but Cat Dude, you've got game."

  Bubsy purred. Abby snickered, absolutely certain she knew why Bubsy had suddenly become so friendly.

  As soon they were back inside the cottage, Bubsy insisted on being called Cat Dude. "I knew it. I knew that's why you liked Wyatt."

  "The man said I have game and he calls me Cat Dude." His chest puffed up. "Cat Dude. I love it. You have to call me Cat Dude. Then Jill will too."

  Abby snorted. "A teenager doing what her mother does? My cat friend, you're delusional."

  She walked to the hall closet and hid what was left of the potion in the pocket of an old sweater.

  Then she went back to the kitchen and found her phone in order to text Harriet: Have you heard from Selene?

  She couldn't text Mr. Steed. He barely knew how to answer his cell, let alone text. Instead, she left a message on his voicemail.

  Later that night, Abby walked into Jill's bedroom. "Is Bubsy still under there?"

  "I think so."

  The 'Cat Dude' scheme had failed and he was sulking under the teen's bed.

  From the moment Jill arrived home, Abby had covertly lobbied for the name change, making certain to tell Jill it was Wyatt's suggestion.

  Cool Wyatt. Cool Wyatt the musician.

  It still didn't work.

  Jill firmly rejected the change. Instead, she picked up the cat and rubbed his belly. "You're Bubsy. My little poopsy-whoopsy Bubsy forever."

  The cat had squirmed out of her arms and hid under her bed.

  Abby knelt down and lifted the bed skirt to peer at the sulking cat.

  Then she stood up. "He won't even look at me. It's you he should be mad at, not me. I'm willing to call him 'Cat Dude.'"

  Jill grunted. "You are so weird sometimes, Mother. How do you know he's miffed because of his name?"

  "It's a gift." She walked out of Jill's room with an enigmatic smile.

  After a while, Bubsy came padding into Abby's room and leaped up on the bed, his tail swishing.

  "After today's chat, I've chosen a history lesson for you tonight." With a flicker of light, the cat transformed into the velvety black book.

  This had become their routine. Once Jill was asleep, Bubsy would come up with a lesson for Abby. Sometimes he would present her with a page or two to read, usually either explaining the function of a potion and its ingredients or practicing chants or introducing a new spell.

  Abby watched as the book flipped open to a page.

  A dot of aquamarine ink appeared and spread into letters that became words that flowed into paragraphs.

  Soon she was engrossed in page after page of the history of the Enchanters League.

  For centuries, in tiny rural villages and small towns, enchanted beings had resided alongside humans, the majority of whom were unaware of the true nature of these seemingly fellow humans.

  When the populations increased and towns became cities, many enchanters spread to smaller towns, but others stayed in the cities and worked next to humans in harmony, for the most part.

  Living side-by-side invited conflict, of course, along with romance, which had always been and would always be an integral factor in the lives of individuals, be they enchanted or human.

  "Like my mother," Abby murmured.

  Phoebe Adamas had resisted the traditions of her family, and at the age of nineteen she left to see the world.

  Years passed, and when she met Burt Little, a human of the kindly variety, it was love at first sight. And yet, despite their devotion and fidelity, Phoebe chose to keep the truth of her enchanted nature a secret from her husband.

  When Abby was five her mother cast a spell, a memory blocking spell, to protect her. Unfortunately, Phoebe was math-challenged, like so many in her family, and the spell was accidentally doubled. Instead of the memory block wearing off when Abby turned twenty, she was thirty-five when the block vanished.

  The book in her hand squirmed—Bubsy's warning to focus on the lesson. Abby flipped the page and her gaze landed on a section with the intriguing heading: Afflicted by the Dark Arts.

  An image of Camille entered her mind as a spidery sensation crawled up her spine.

  Reading the section, she learned that many enchanted beings who practiced the Dark Arts refused to live anywhere near humans.

  Instead, they created enclaves in cities or towns where they worked and procreated with each other.

  Usually, witches gathered in certain sections or neighborhoods while other types of enchanted beings preferred their own wards and districts.

  Humans seldom settled in these areas, although there were exceptions—humans attracted to the dark arts.

  Some of those humans chose to reside in or near an enclave and they often experienced trouble from the enchanters in the area. However, those who dabbled enough to practice a trifling inferior magick were tolerated.

  If they proceeded beyond dabbling and immersed themselves in the dark arts and became adept, those humans were certain to attract friends and, very likely, romantic partners.

 

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